


that bang ain't worth my buck

by yoongoogles



Category: ATEEZ (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempt at Humor, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Dark Character, Deal with a Devil, Demon Park Jimin (BTS), Enemies to Friends, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feeding, Heavy Angst, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rating May Change, Supernatural Elements, Tags Are Hard, Things That Shouldn't Be Alive Are Alive, To Be Edited, Work In Progress, no beta we die like men, tentacles kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoongoogles/pseuds/yoongoogles
Summary: Wooyoung could never understand why his brother despised his imaginary friend. Jimin had wings and taught him cool things Hongjoong didn't have the time for. When Jimin disappears, he chalks it up to really having had an imaginary friend.Until he reappears in his kitchen 10 years later.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Park Jimin, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> hi! please pay attention to tags! they are going to change as the story unfolds.  
> this is my extremely self-indulgent love letter to woomin don't look at me.
> 
> *i don't anticipate there to be violent/aggressive depictions of non-consensual situations but there is the tag for a reason. please back out if those kinds of things make you uncomfortable.*

When Wooyoung was seven, his best friend was Park Jimin. 

He was older than Wooyoung, well into his early teenage years but wise beyond so. He seemed to know everything there was to know in the universe, and it tickled Wooyoung to bumble through every question he could think of. No matter what it seemed to be, Jimin always had an answer and a smile prepared for him.

_“Where did the dinosaurs really go, hyung?”_

_“How does a fridge work?”_

_“Can you make Happy speak to me?”_

_“What makes the sky change colors?”_

Wooyoung never asked about Jimin, though. He thought it might be rude to point out the subtle differences between the two, even if it did frustrate him every time he couldn’t quite get Jimin right in a sketch. He’d always have to use the crayon labeled as ‘stone’ and the only yellow he owned was the same color as the one he used for the sun. Wooyoung always drew Jimin like a ghost with headlights for eyes, but Jimin loved all of his pictures, anyway. 

Hongjoong, just a few years older than Wooyoung but not quite Jimin’s age, _hated_ Jimin. He’d tear down Wooyoung’s drawings from the fridge, shredding them right in front of a tearful Wooyoung. _“Stop talking about it, he doesn’t exist.”_ On days like those, Jimin would appear outside of his window with a light knock and a grin, usually carrying some kind of present for Wooyoung. He’d stumble out of bed and throw open the window, giggling and tossing himself out of it for Jimin to catch. Jimin would clutch onto him with ease, blowing his soft curls out of his face and wrapping his wings protectively around them as he lowered them to the ground. 

“ _You’re lucky I have these big things. You would’ve splat right onto the ground, Wooyoung.”_ The wings were Wooyoung’s favorite part; long and sleek, black like the coat of a raven, unfolding and tinged with smoke billowing across them like wind on the sea. He allowed Wooyoung to pluck loose feathers, place them in his hair like bunny ears or he’d fasten them into pens for Wooyoung to draw with. Jimin would tuck him close against an old tree on the family property, helping him draw or breathing life into Wooyoung’s plushies so they could play games together. Wooyoung was smitten, admiration pouring out of him every time Jimin’s smoke would flow into a stuffed animal and awaken them, giving Wooyoung something to cuddle with when Jimin returned him to his room. Happy was his favorite, a blue and white bear with button eyes and a soft voice. He’d give Wooyoung and Jimin painting lessons and sleep next to Wooyoung’s neck at night, even if he tossed around too much. 

As Wooyoung grew, so did Jimin, at an alarmingly faster rate than Wooyoung. Every year Wooyoung turned, Jimin was three ahead, taller and smoother with darker and darker wings every time. He stopped coming around as much; five days a week shifted to three, then down to once a week. By the time Wooyoung reached eleven, he hadn’t seen Jimin in almost a year. He didn’t draw Jimin anymore; he focused on the scenery of the orchard in his yard, portraits of cute girls and boys he crushed on in middle school. Happy lost sentience, remaining tucked away in a corner of Wooyoung’s bed. Eventually, Wooyoung’s memories of his childhood nearly vanished, only coming to him in dreams or faint visions. He couldn’t separate fact from fiction and simply accepted that maybe Hongjoong had been right, maybe he’d crafted Jimin out of loneliness as a child. It made sense. 

Until today. 

Wooyoung shrieks, simmering egg yolk sliding down the edge of his frying pan as he slings it in front of him. A drop of the yolk lands on his bare foot and he shouts again, tossing the pan into the sink and searching the countertop for something else to use as a weapon. He spots Hongjoong’s fancy knife block and reaches for it, unsheathing the kitchen shears and brandishing them threateningly at the figure casually leaning against the door frame. It’s the only entrance and exit to his kitchen, he’s trapped and has little to no chance against whatever this _thing_ with the ashen skin is. 

“Who are you?” His voice is more stable than his shaking arm, shears held out in front of him at chest level to the thing, who looks more bored by the second. The figure checks his nails, sighing as if Wooyoung’s fear is bothering him rather than thrilling him. 

“Do you not recognize me, little one?” Wooyoung stares hard, transfixed by the tendrils of shimmering smoke in the vague shape of downcast wings wrapping around the figure’s frame. Wooyoung blinks, mapping the features out and trying to call a comparable image to his mind. Nothing happens for several seconds, and then the thing’s dull golden eyes meet his own and he feels a tremor shock through his body. The thing smiles, brilliant and flashy against his steel complexion. The grin falls flat when he realizes Wooyoung is still reacting to his presence instead of remembering him, which immediately puts Wooyoung in a significantly dangerous position, so he pretends. 

“Uh...yeah, I definitely do. Like, are you Hades or something?” Wooyoung almost smacks himself. 

“H-Hades? Are you-” The thing’s eyes flash a bright gold as they widen comically, lips falling into an o shape as he stands straighter. “You’re not serious, right? You do remember me, don’t you?” Wooyoung weighs his options; he could nod his head yes and continue trying to bluff his way through until the thing decides to paint his walls with his blood, or he could just be truthful and hope that he’s a merciful being. He chances shaking his head _no._ The thing crosses his arms, smog pulling tight as if comforting him, and then he honest to god _stamps his foot._

Wooyoung makes a noise akin to a squeak, dropping his shears and plastering himself to the wall beside the fridge. The tile beneath the thing’s feet splinters with the force, creating fractures to reveal the concrete below. Wooyoung glances down and back at the face of the sputtering creature, and then he grips the door of the fridge and pulls it to shelter him against the wall. He’s effectively cornered himself and he knows it, but at least if he attacks, he could maybe kick the door into him and slip past. 

“I can’t believe this.” The thing mutters, the fog trailing up his body to rub against his face as he paces the small entrance, utterly uncaring of Wooyoung’s broken floor. 

“Hey, uh. If you’re gonna do that, could you stop making the floor worse? I don’t own this place.” Wooyoung ducks down behind the edge of the fridge door when the thing snaps out of it, looking from Wooyoung to the floor. 

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” The thing crouches, touching a hand to the largest chunk of cracked tile. It mends, connecting together with a soft _click_ like magnets, smoothing over the edges until it appears as it did before. In his amazement, Wooyoung stands up and leans over the door, watching as the fractures fill and renew. “You have to remember me.” The thing steps closer, his face adopting a smirk when Wooyoung presses himself further back into the wall. “My, you sure did grow up to be handsome, little one.”

  
  
  
  


+

  
  
  


Wooyoung glances into his mug, wrinkling his nose at his own reflection as he listens to the evening news. The anchor croons about Australian wildfires, locusts swarming in Dubai, surely signs of a doomsday upon them. Wooyoung’s not worried; he’s got something of a terror in his house already. He’s buying time, struggling to remember Hongjoong’s schedule for the day. Was he going to Mingi’s after work to study, or was he working at the bar tonight? Is he going to be home soon? 

“Why did you make yourself English Breakfast if you don’t like it?” Wooyoung looks back up into Jimin’s face, peering at him over his own mug curiously from the other side of the room. 

“It’s all we had.” Wooyoung’s tone betrays his weariness to speak, voice just on the edge of apprehensive. 

“Do you still like green tea? Here, give it to me.” Jimin doesn’t stand. He extends the wispy tendrils to Wooyoung’s cup, gently tugging it from his grasp. The smoke solidifies under the weight of the mug, slowly passing it to Jimin. He licks the tip of his finger and dips it into the steaming cup, swirling for a second or two before he’s satisfied. Jimin gets up to set the mug in the middle of the coffee table between them, a peace offering if Wooyoung’s ever seen one.

“What the fuck are you?” Wooyoung’s patience runs out at that, his back straight and spine rigid as he assesses Jimin. “Why did you come back?” 

Jimin pays no mind to Wooyoung’s terrible manners, running a ringed hand down the line of his throat as he thinks. “Wooyoung, I am centuries older than you, at least have the decency to call me properly.”

“ _Fine._ What are you doing here, _hyung?”_

“Why, thank you for asking so politely, my sweet Wooyoungie. I missed daytime television. I’ve heard there’s an excellent new drama out on Netflix, I’ve been wanting to watch it.” Jimin sighs as he leans against the back of the couch, spreading his legs and looking comfortable as can be. Wooyoung doesn’t miss the way his thighs flex against his jeans, corded muscle brushing against smooth fabric. Jimin’s a lot more attractive than Wooyoung remembers him as. 

“You wanted to watch Netflix with me.” Wooyoung deadpans, leaning forward so he can balance an elbow on his knee as he rubs one hand over his face. Jimin hums a smug affirmative, smirking at Wooyoung as he goes through an internal crisis. Jimin, his imaginary friend with wings and powers from his childhood, has reappeared in his kitchen to watch Netflix with him. He sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers in the air as he grins at Jimin. “Hongjoong was wrong!” 

“Yes, he was.” Jimin chuckles, his eyes disappearing when Wooyoung laughs, too. _Oh. He’s really pretty._

“We can do that, I guess.” Wooyoung finally takes his tea, the enticing aroma of green tea with a hint of raspberry drifting up to him. “Oh, what the fuck?”

“Try it.” Jimin wiggles in place, smiley and happy as Wooyoung lifts the mug to his lips. When he hesitates, Jimin scoffs and gestures for him to drink. “Come on, like I’d take you out with some tea? Just drink it.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes but sips anyway, pleasantly surprised by the balanced flavor. 

“Good job using your voodoo shit to make nice tea, hyung.” Wooyoung giggles as the smile drops from Jimin’s face and morphs into a scowl. 

“Hey! It’s not ‘voodoo shit’. It’s much _cooler_ than voodoo shit. What do you even know?” Jimin throws his hands up, one of them producing a pretty blue flame that engulfs his entire hand. Wooyoung stops laughing. He points at the flaming appendage and then looks Jimin very seriously in the eyes, the crackling of fire and ads from the television the only sound between them.

“Oh my god, you’re totally Hades.”

“I’m so _not_ Hades.”

“Prove it. You can’t. Do you see that? You’re fucking Hades.”

“Hades _wishes_ he could fuck me.” Jimin flicks his hand and the flame snuffs itself, Jimin’s ringed hand intact and flexing as if to show off to Wooyoung. He shakes his hand out, blowing on it like a pistol, and then throws a flirty glance at Wooyoung. 

“Yeah, I’m sure he does. So, what are you then? A pet?” Wooyoung reels his callousness back in when Jimin’s eyes spark that menacing sunfire color. “I mean...I just, _I don’t know._ What am I supposed to think about all of this?”

“Look, I’ve got nothing to do with Hades. I’m just a regular old demon.” Jimin shrugs, as if that’s not an outstanding and concerning piece of knowledge necessary to Wooyoung, and then he gets up to wander. “So, you still live with Hongjoong, huh? Glad you guys get along better. Nasty little things as children, you were.” He glides around the living room, stopping to study the family pictures and knick knacks the brothers have collected throughout the years. Wooyoung waits for him to continue, taking note of how he moves like water through Wooyoung’s space. 

“He’s my brother. We grew up.” Wooyoung shrugs as he watches Jimin peruse his apartment, noticing that the wings he once adored so much are absent from Jimin’s back. He shouldn’t pry, but he feels a pang of sorrow that the part of Jimin he loved most seems to be taken from him. He wonders briefly if it was a painful experience, if Jimin still struggles with the lack of his wings.

“Your stare feels like a goddamn lazer.” Jimin cocks his head over his shoulder, eyeing Wooyoung from head to toe. “You’re curious, aren’t you?” 

“About what?”

“Why I’d choose to come bother you now, after all this time.” Jimin stretches and for the first time, Wooyoung’s taken aback by how casual he’s dressed. He wishes someone [else] were here to pinch him; a demon in a threadbare black sweater, fashionably tucked into skinny jeans with the knees ripped out, who would’ve thought? It’s definitely an outfit that screams Jimin, not a supernatural being who could light Wooyoung’s apartment on fire with a flick of his wrist.

“Thought it was to watch anime or something?” 

“Oh my god!” Jimin’s eyes light up, a blinding yellow that paralyzes Wooyoung, and then he’s rushing from the room. Wooyoung’s frozen, staring at the shelf where Hongjoong has all of their video games organized by genre. It’s an annoying habit. He tries to move but his muscles twinge, forcing him to keep still while he worries about whatever Jimin had gone off to see in such a hurry. 

_“Jimin!”_ A second, higher voice calls out and if Wooyoung could flinch he absolutely would. He might not have recognized Jimin right away, but that voice is a shallow memory he recalls frequently. Jimin thunders back into the room as Wooyoung struggles to move; he doesn’t want to see, he doesn’t want to remember-

“You still have Happy?” Jimin approaches, cradling the bear like a baby. He’s smiling so wide, Wooyoung couldn’t be upset even if he tried. He’d long ago given up hope that Happy was real, too. “Oh shit, sorry. I forget I do that sometimes.” Jimin’s eyes return to the muted gold color and Wooyoung’s muscles relax. He exhales and stretches, testing out the flexibility of his neck and arms. Jimin takes no notice, focused entirely on bundling the little bear in his arms and squeezing as tightly as he can. Wooyoung files that information into a list of things he knows about Jimin in his head; _blue flames, paralyzes people out of excitement, lost wings, is hot._

“Of course I still have Happy.”

“ _Wooyoungie! I missed you!”_ Happy’s arms flail at the sight of Wooyoung, nearly lunging out of Jimin’s grasp. Wooyoung hesitates, unsure of how to handle the fact that his childhood toy has become re-animated. Jimin cocks an eyebrow at him before gently placing Happy in Wooyoung’s lap. The bear stumbles over Wooyoung’s thighs and smacks face first into Wooyoung’s stomach, nuzzling against his shirt. 

“I...yeah.” Wooyoung pats Happy’s head carefully, allowing him to cuddle into Wooyoung’s side. Jimin looks painfully amused at Wooyoung’s utter shock, which only serves to piss off Wooyoung just a little bit. He didn’t ask for any of this, didn’t want any of this again. “So like, what are you actually doing here? We’re not kids anymore. Matter of fact, I don’t think you ever even _were_ a kid. Demons can do that shape-shifting thing, can’t they? Where they appear as whatever object best-suits their prey?” Wooyoung’s glare doesn’t perturb Jimin - it has the opposite reaction. Jimin’s eyes disappear in his smile, his whole face glowing as he tosses himself onto the couch next to Wooyoung. He jostles Happy and the bear lets go of Wooyoung in favor of climbing into Jimin’s lap. He’s quiet for a few moments, stroking Happy’s head and relaxing into the cushions.

“I suppose I just missed my friend.” Jimin’s head leans back against the couch and lolls in Wooyoung’s direction, though he doesn’t meet his eyes yet. “I grew older than you much faster, it was only a matter of time before I was called to work, Wooyoungie.” His gaze slides to Wooyoung, subdued and far less intimidating than before. Wooyoung’s struck by the trust he sees, the way Jimin doesn’t put any power in his features even though Wooyoung’s sure his own face is a mess of emotion. He has too many questions, too many things he thinks Jimin will artfully evade until he just stops asking. _A fucking demon._ The hell if that’s going to stop him from trying to get as many answers as possible. It seemed like Jimin was going to tell him something before he noticed Happy, so Wooyoung studies him while he tries to steer the conversation backwards.

“So you just chose to come back?” He softens his voice, matches Jimin’s casual posture and looks for any tells Jimin could possibly give him that he’ll be forthcoming. Jimin hums in response, using his index finger to tickle Happy’s belly. The bear’s sweet laugh punches a hole through Wooyoung’s lungs, sucking all of the air out. He _missed_ this. 

“I never went away.” That seems to be all Jimin wants to answer, because he folds Happy into the crook of his arm and tucks himself further into the couch. 

“ _Wooyoungie, Jimin is a good boy.”_ Happy says, capturing Wooyoung’s attention as he cutely snuggles into Jimin. Wooyoung looks at him for a long moment, taking in the burn of Jimin’s stare as he does. He quickly gives up when Happy makes a yawning noise. The threat level of Jimin from the beginning has lowered significantly, but something tells Wooyoung to keep in mind he is not the same little boy he used to be. 

Wooyoung says nothing, settling in next to the two. His thigh brushes Jimin’s, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Jimin closes the remaining space between their sides and then lifts his hand. Wooyoung’s momentarily confused until he sees the remote hovering above the coffee table, drifting lazily through the air before landing in Jimin’s outstretched palm. “That’s kinda sick.”

“I know right? But can we actually watch that show, though?”

  
  
  
  
  


+

  
  
  
  


Wooyoung wakes up blearily on the couch as the last rays of sunlight blaze through the sheer living room curtains, painting the plain walls of his apartment orange and pink hues. He groans and shifts, displacing a sleeping Happy from his lap onto the throw pillow beside him. There’s a heavier weight pressed into the right side of his body, an arm placed delicately around his waist. Jimin stirs from the crook of Wooyoung’s neck and smacks his lips into a pout cutely, tousling his hair as he blinks at Wooyoung. 

“I didn’t know demons slept.” Wooyoung smirks as Jimin rolls his eyes and falls backwards away from Wooyoung, curling around a pillow at the other end of the couch. 

“I can’t, usually.” Jimin closes his eyes again and Wooyoung takes the time to admire his swollen cheeks. The light casting him in such a glow gives Jimin’s graphite complexion shine and tone, showcasing the high points in his face. Wooyoung maps the lines, trying to commit it to memory in case he disappears again; his eyes are sharp, soften like butter when he looks at Happy or Wooyoung and glow that strange brazen gold. 

“So why did you this time?” 

“I was comfortable. Are you going to question my existence to death?”

“Yes.” Wooyoung giggles at himself, pulling his knees up to hug them tightly to his chest. He likes feeling small in the face of something much greater than he, with more answers than he could hope to have. He’s probably not going to get them anyway, so why bother with acting like he’s unaffected? Jimin’s energy buzzes around him and instead of feeling excitement, Wooyoung just feels calm. 

“Ask whatever you like.” Jimin stretches, his torso bowing outwards and his sweater rising up to just above his belly button. Wooyoung’s mouth dries out, looking at the expanse of ashen skin spread out before him. He has not a single thought in his brain, head totally empty, devoid of all emotion other than _whoa muscles._

“Uh-” He stammers and then panics, trying to recall his _Facts About Jimin_ list. “You’re a demon.” Jimin blinks, because he did not pose a question. He simply stated what Jimin is and then stared at him with goldfish eyes, wide and soulless. 

“...Yes.” 

“Are there kinds of demons? I’ve heard that from like, _Ghost Adventures_.” Brilliant, Wooyoung. You should’ve followed through with engineering school. 

“I bet you can’t guess what kind I am.” Wooyoung’s about to throw out as many greek gods as he can name again but there’s a shift in the air. Jimin’s lips curl like a cheshire cat, revealing blindingly beautiful teeth, straight and sharp as a canine’s. Wooyoung glances up from his mouth and it’s a mistake. His muscles solidify, cementing him in a frozen state as he watches Jimin approach with increasing apprehension. He’s slow to the draw, still curious until Jimin’s tongue drags down his front teeth and it feels like he’s at the mercy of a predator. This doesn’t feel quite like the fun, innocent Jimin who ran from the room at the sight of a prized stuffed animal. This feels like a brush with death and Wooyoung can’t _move._

Wooyoung attempts to hold his hands out in front of him, signaling that Jimin stay away, and he knows it’s pointless when the motions don’t come. He can’t believe he’d been so willing, so reckless as to trust a creature appearing as a long lost childhood fantasy in the middle of his kitchen. Jimin slinks closer to him, the couch dipping under their combined weight as he moves to kneel directly in front of Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung can feel his heart beat slow as Jimin’s neon eyes skate his body, like thousands of fireflies shining around his pupils lighting up before him. If perhaps Wooyoung had control of his body, he’d consider them beautiful rather than an obvious siren call. 

“You see, Wooyoungie, I am not just a demon-” Jimin cuts himself off by running the tip of his index finger down the bridge of Wooyoung’s nose, seemingly fascinated by the path he takes. Wooyoung fights it, trying to wiggle away from the unwanted touch to no avail. He’s aching, yelling a million different versions of _leave me alone! Don’t touch me!_ Maybe Jimin can peer into his thoughts too, because he certainly seems amused with the way Wooyoung’s veins protrude from his neck in an effort to escape. “Sweetheart, you’re going to hurt yourself. Stop that.” He traces one, pushing on it to feel the blood kick up under his finger. Wooyoung sobs as a heavenly scent falls over him like a shawl, woody and so familiar. It smells like Hongjoong’s cologne. Fear strikes in his lower back, zinging up his spine into his skull like a lightning rod. _Why does that smell like Hongjoong?_

“A pretty thing, aren’t you? Don’t fret, I’m just showing you what you wanted to know.” Wooyoung struggles, terrified tears spilling down the front of his face with no chance to wipe them away. Jimin coos at him, swiping a ringed thumb over his wet skin. “Baby, relax and you’ll understand. You’ll _feel._ Just trust me.” The muscles in Wooyoung’s jaw grate in protest as he tries to scream, rage washing over the terror until all at once he’s floating. The helplessness disappears, leaving him suspended in the air, an observer from inside of his own body. Jimin’s thumb rubs his tears into his cheeks, trailing down the front of his throat to press comfortingly into a pressure point on his neck. He moans, startling himself as sound finally breaks through whatever barrier Jimin cast over him. Jimin watches him closely as euphoric scent creeps into his nose, soaking into his pores and cleansing out all the negative emotions. When Jimin senses he’s relaxed enough, he leans forward to brush their cheeks together, nuzzling the peach fuzz lining Wooyoung’s jawline. “See? _Incredible_ , isn’t it?” 

“Ji-Jimin?” Wooyoung tests his voice, fascinated with the way he sounds. Like he’s been running for miles. Like he’s just fallen over the edge only to glide through the air. 

“Feel it, Wooyoung.” Jimin’s hands go to his knees, sliding up the inseam until they reach Wooyoung’s inner thighs. He prods the muscles there carefully, deep circles to stimulate the blood circulation where he wants it. Wooyoung can’t move, but he can vocalize. He gasps, eyes trained on the way Jimin explores his body. Waves of pleasure ring through his body, vibrating in his chest all the way down through his toes. An orgasm couldn’t touch the continuous tingles ripping through him with every move Jimin makes, every time he inhales and exhales next to Wooyoung’s face. 

“What is this?” Wooyoung whimpers, warning bells clanging in the back of his mind silenced by Jimin’s lips pressing into his neck. He finds a pulse point immediately, mouth opening and teeth scraping the skin as Wooyoung shakes. The energy building up in him has no outlet, he can’t bare his neck like his instinct pulls him to. He just has to sit and take whatever Jimin gives him. 

“It’s me.” It comes out amused, like Wooyoung is a silly toy for Jimin to play with. Jimin kisses his way up Wooyoung’s neck to the corner of his mouth, hovering there for a second to tease him. Wooyoung openly whines when Jimin purposefully brushes his bottom lip. “What’s the matter? Not scared anymore?” Jimin holds Wooyoung’s gaze, searching his eyes intently for any sign of fear. Wooyoung knows he won’t find any. Inside of his body, he’s practically shoving himself to close the gaps, to get this beautiful and dangerous creature on him. The apprehension has been stripped away, the closest he’s ever been to desperation. He’d give just about anything to crawl out of his own skin to get to Jimin right now.

“ _Jimin-”_ Wooyoung’s released, entire body folding in half as Jimin catches him. The euphoria lingers, sparking along the parts of skin Jimin’s holding. The fear, however, returns full force. He attempts to back away, but Jimin’s too quick; a hand grips his neck and drags him in even as he fights, using as much backward force as possible to maintain some space between them. Jimin locks their eyes and Wooyoung hesitates, waiting for the moment he’s paralyzed again, glaring into those murky yellow medusa orbs. Jimin softens his touch as Wooyoung’s chest tightens, freezing in his hold. 

“Wooyoung, am I scary to you?” Jimin whispers, eyes widening like a puppy begging forgiveness. From his peripheral, Wooyoung can see Jimin’s smoke covering his skin like glaze, raising his hair as though an electrical current fizzed between them. Wooyoung thinks about earlier today, how Jimin brought his guard down just enough by rehashing old memories and acting so fondly with Happy. He should not be scared of _his_ Jimin, but this Jimin doesn’t feel like _his._ The switch in personalities was imperceptible until Wooyoung couldn’t move. He supposes that’s the whole point of Jimin’s power, anyway. He’s too nervous to reply, thoughts darting through his head and never landing on a good enough answer. He shakes his head.

Jimin’s face melts into a grin as his fingertips dance across Wooyoung’s collarbone. 

“Mmm, I should be.” Jimin’s eyes glint, narrowed and calculated like a serpent. “You taste insane like this, ugh.” Jimin leans forward to touch Wooyoung’s cheek to his own and _inhales._ Deep and breathy. He turns his head to connect their lips, barely a whisper of a touch. Wooyoung keeps his eyes open, unable to move away or return the affections. He just sits and waits. 

“Why?” His voice cracks when Jimin pulls away, a hand slithering up into Wooyoung’s hair to play with the soft fuzz of his undercut. Jimin cocks his head cutely, twirling and twisting until the touch gets rough. Wooyoung gasps again when Jimin’s fist closes in the longer hair at the crown of his skull and yanks down, snapping Wooyoung’s neck back to face the ceiling. 

“Adrenaline feels amazing even when spiked with terror, doesn’t it?” Jimin emphasizes his question with a sharp tug, drinking in the cry out of Wooyoung’s mouth. “Pretty and delicious, aren’t I in luck?” Jimin fits his mouth over Wooyoung's lips in an open kiss. Wooyoung groans at the intrusion, torn between trying to get away and giving in to the kiss. Jimin doesn’t leave him much of a choice; the tip of his tongue finds the roof of Wooyoung’s mouth and traces to his teeth. He sighs, a big and relieved sound against their kiss. Wooyoung, despite trying to remain still, gives in when Jimin tilts his head and slows until it feels less like an assault on his senses and more like a comforting, sweet thing shared between them. 

“Jimph-”

“Shh.” Jimin admonishes Wooyoung, tapping the end of his nose and fitting himself closer to Wooyoung. Wooyoung keeps his eyes open, watching as Jimin’s eyebrows pinch together in concentration. Vaguely, he hears a small scraping noise in the background that sets him on edge. It’s hard to focus, to clear out his brain from all the pheromones pushing into his skull and buzzing around. 

“Hyu-” He tries and is disciplined with a soft slap to the face, the calm kisses shifting again into something frenzied. Wooyoung hears the loud door lock click, signifying someone turning a key in the large bolt on the front door. Jimin pays no attention, even as Wooyoung attempts to push him backwards, to turn his head. Jimin’s grip solidifies until he’s nearly frozen forcefully put into place as Jimin takes. The knob turns and a cacophony of warning bells clang in Wooyoung’s head. He’s panicking, reeling backwards and getting pushed into the couch cushions with a weight so heavy on him he chokes. _Oh no, Hongjoong, what will Jimin do?_ He can’t fight anymore, Jimin’s caged him in so thoroughly he can hardly breathe. 

“Wooyoungie, I’m home!” 

The weight disappears.

“You will never believe what that new guy did tonight, oh my _god._ He tripped over the bar mat and broke like a dozen of our specialty beer mugs. Where are you?” The kitchen light comes on as Hongjoong continues talking to the air, blissfully unaware of Wooyoung staring up at the ceiling on the couch where Jimin’s face had been seconds before, draining and filling and exhausting him. “Anyway, then this _punk ass_ has the nerve to ask me if he can have tomorrow night off because he has an exam to study for. Uh, yeah, me fuckin’ too my guy. You don’t see me dipping on the bar because I’ve got a macroeconomics paper worth half my grade due.” Hongjoong scoffs to himself, rustling what sounds like plastic take-out bags from the bar. Sometimes he brings them home some chips and salsa from the bar and a couple of stolen beers if it’s been a rough night. Wooyoung would be more grateful for something a bit harder right now. “Are you asleep, where are you?”

“Here.” Wooyoung’s voice cracks and he coughs to cover it, doesn’t bother moving off of the couch or sitting upright. Hongjoong shuffles over to him, socked feet sliding around hardwood until his face pops over the edge. 

“Hey. Rough night? I thought you had today off.”

“I did.”

“I brought us some tequila the bar was going to throw away since we’re switching to fancier shit.” 

“Great. Please make me the strongest drink you’ve ever made in your whole life. 99% tequila.”

“Are you okay?” Hongjoong’s smile twists into something small and tight, one eyebrow wrinkle away from a grimace. Wooyoung just nods and holds his hand straight out, opening and closing his fist in a grabby hands motion.

“If I taste a single drop of mixer in whatever you give me, I’ll put baby powder in your blow dryer again.” Wooyoung swivels his hand in the air and smacks Hongjoong’s face, pinching his cheek between his index finger and thumb and tugging on the skin until he looks like a hooked fish. “I love you.”

As Hongjoong whines about his (attractive) new employee at the bar, Wooyoung tunes him out and revisits Jimin’s switch in attitude. It was like something in him took over, sheltered away the light and let the dark feast on all of Wooyoung’s attention. He’s tired, so tired, but too terrified to sleep. If Jimin had lured him in that quickly, he’s sure to come back and finish off whatever he wanted from Wooyoung in the first place. Hongjoong’s appearance shouldn’t have spooked him so easily. Wooyoung tilts his head backwards until he sees Happy, inanimate and thrown from his previous sleeping position, blank beady eyes reflecting light from the kitchen. He does not look back at Wooyoung.

“Hey, do you want me to put a lime or anything in-”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hongjoong says hello

_ Tempetus requires a sacrifice of Kim Hongjoong’s person in and so he will be subjected to perform at Tempetus’ whim when called upon. In exchange, Tempetus is to never appear or engage with Jung Wooyoung in all present or future lives. Tempetus may not feed from either party, rather only who Kim Hongjoong presents in place of himself & Jung Wooyoung. In the event Kim Hongjoong refuses to provide services, Temptus is released from contact and free to do as Temptus wishes. Should Tempetus sever the contract, Hongjoong and Wooyoung are afforded whatever may be desired within Tempetus’ conditions. Deal is sealed with initial feeding from Kim Hongjoong. Effective immediately. _

_ ~Park Jimin, Tempetus _

_ ~ _ _ Kim Hongjoong _

  
  
  
  
  


Hongjoong doesn’t know what’s been up with Wooyoung the last couple of days. 

He’s watched curiously as Wooyoung pauses before entering the kitchen, dashing in and grabbing whatever he needs as though he is a child turning off a light to a dark room. The amusement fades when Hongjoong finds Happy, Wooyoung’s little bear he’s had for ages, shoved between the cushions in the couch. “ _ See a horror flick lately, Wooyoungie?”  _ The snicker is cut off abruptly when Wooyoung snatches the plushie from his hands and stalks off into his room, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles. That one he actually almost demands an answer for, standing alone and confused in the living room with empty hands. He’s less touchy, withdrawn into his room or out of the apartment entirely. Hongjoong tries to leave it alone, chalking it up to the stress of incoming finals, but the itch to solve whatever the problem is sits low in his throat. He hates when there’s tension in the house.

He’s on the couch Thursday night, earbuds beginning to make his ears ache uncomfortably as he finishes the shading on his first draft for his final in Design-Build. He hasn’t moved since noon and that was just to make a quick cup of ramen before he settled back into sketching. A blessed day off from both school and work usually means he’s still working in some form. He plans on extending Wooyoung an olive branch by ordering from their favorite Chinese place from down the street whenever he gets back from his last class.

A shift of energy in the air sets him off, the distinct feeling that someone is looking over his shoulder as he works. He feels ridiculous checking, unsurprised to see the same old bookshelf and art work behind him. He turns back to his work just as his music pauses, the eerie electrical hum filling the silence. He glances at his phone perched on his knee as the screen blinks to life, displaying the Spotify music widget in front of his wallpaper. The volume slider steadily climbs until the white noise becomes deafening, jolting him into ripping the earbuds out. Dread grows heavier with each breath as he tries to reason his way through it; he could’ve accidentally pressed the volume control switch on the wires of his earbuds (the switch is low enough to rest against his chest) the adapter could’ve popped in and out of place (it’s old, but not even so much as bent). In any other situation, any other day, he wouldn’t have questioned it. Something is here.

  
  


“Hello, Hongjoong-ssi.” A smooth, velvet voice purrs into his ear and he flinches away, bowing to the right and holding in a gasp. If Wooyoung had decided to play some prank on him, he wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without dropping to the floor and screeching his weird little muppet laugh. Feeling a little valiant, he sets his tablet next to him carefully and turns until he’s hanging over the backside of the couch. Wooyoung is not crouched behind it. 

“Over here.” Hongjoong does gasp this time, jumping up and frantically searching the room for the disembodied voice. Unfortunately for him, their apartment isn’t exactly considered  _ big.  _ It takes only a few circles behind the couch and loveseat, a ruffling of the paper-thin drapes to the balcony and a quick glance outside to ensure this room is clear.

Hongjoong believes in it all. He’s no skeptic, he’s seen too much for the blissful ignorance many have regarding the things that go bump in the night.

Now he’s just trying to figure out which thing is distracting him from his project.

“Okay, I’m going to pretend like I’m not talking to nothing. Where are you?” The floors creak beneath him as he walks the space, throwing a cursory glance down the dark hallway to their bedrooms. He’s approaching the kitchen when he hears a lilting voice sing out his name and is immediately at ease. He knows exactly who it is. 

“Jimin?” He rounds the corner, unsurprised to see the very creature brazenly sitting on his countertop, swinging his legs cutely at the mention of his name. 

“Ah, you’re not as easy to scare these days.” He stretches before lightly sliding to his feet, smokey tendrils softening his landing on the cold tile. Stray wisps extend out to Hongjoong, cupping his face lovingly. He hasn’t seen Jimin in a little over a year, maybe a year and a half. Jimin looks as beautiful as ever; clad in all black fabric clinging to all the right parts, accentuating muscles and exposing skin. He can appreciate the sight, but Jimin’s presence never means anything good.

“It’s been a minute, hyung.” Hongjoong calmly removes a particularly forceful tendril poking into the contour of his cheek. 

“Hi.” Jimin greets, dim yellow eyes crescenting as he calls his playful wisps back to him. “I like your new piercing. Draws you right into the lips. Smart choice.” 

“Ever the flirt, aren’t you?” Hongjoong traces his finger over the thin ring snug against the middle of his bottom lip, amused in the way Jimin’s eyes flash at the action. It never takes much. “Nice hair.” And the compliment rings true; Jimin’s traded his usual ashy blue-black for a soft warm brown that makes him appear much more innocent than he truly is. If Hongjoong didn’t know him better, he’d almost be attracted to him. Almost.

Jimin twirls the strands between his ringed fingers, wisps coming up to lightly ruffle through his hair in delight. He slinks closer and Hongjoong leans against the wall, taking up the doorway so as to not let Jimin past. He’s learned his lesson about cornering himself around Jimin; being able to quickly move and maintain some distance is imperative around the sneaky demon.

“What can I do for you?” 

“I missed you!” He lifts a hand as if to brush off Hongjoong’s indifference, turning to the designated liquor cabinet and opening it without so much as lifting his hand. He hums to himself as he searches for the perfect bottle, using his tendrils to sift through the selection. He picks the prized, unopened bourbon Wooyoung and Hongjoong’s parents had gifted them as congratulations for getting into school and moving out. He finds the glassware in the next cabinet and deposits two scotch glasses on the counter he’d been sitting on. Apprehension sparks in Hongjoong’s gut as he realizes Jimin’s goal is to get him comfortable for whatever he’s come to him with this time. Whoever he needs Hongjoong to deliver to him. He curses himself silently for not realizing how long it’d been since Jimin’s last visit; he should’ve been paying better attention, should’ve been able to prepare himself. 

Jimin works in companionable silence as he drops a couple of ice cubes into their glasses and fills them to the brim, utilizing smoke resembling stronger vines to balance their drinks carefully. “Shall we?”

“As you wish.” Hongjoong steps out of the entranceway and makes his way back into the living room, Jimin respectfully waiting until Hongjoong is acceptably out of reach before trailing after him. 

Hongjoong returns to his drawing tablet, making a show of picking up his stylus so Jimin can catch a hint that he’s interrupted something important. He resumes sketching, extending a line out from a square in his blueprints to signify the beginning of another area. 

“How are your studies?” Jimin asks amiably, placing Hongjoong’s glass on the coffee table before tucking himself into the chair opposite him. He brings his knees underneath of him, leaning into the arm of the couch and supporting his chin with one hand. 

“It’s...good.” Hongjoong doesn’t bother looking up, intent on at least finishing this part of the sketch before inevitably his attention will be forced elsewhere. 

“I taste anxiety in you. Is it my presence or whatever you’re working on?”

“Take a wild guess and I’ll let you know if you’re right.” Hongjoong bends forward to retrieve his drink, draining the majority of it. The liquid burns all the way down until it hits his empty stomach, whirling and mixing until it feels like a current within him. He never drinks when Jimin’s around, it almost always makes him ill. When he lowers his glass, Jimin’s watching him over his own, surprise coloring his features. 

“Why are you hot now? Like, what’s that about? Are all art majors as hot as you?”

“Get to the point.” He sighs as he saves the layer he’d been working on and discards his tablet to the side table. No point in attempting to work while Jimin feasts on the built up tension in the room. 

“Always so straightforward, Hongjoong-ah.” Jimin locks eyes with him over the rim of his glass, throwing back the drink until it’s empty. The yellow around his pupils begins to burn, danger swirling in his serpent eyes. The alcohol stirs violently in Hongjoong’s stomach. “Your music taste is better, too. Must be that production hobby of yours.” 

“Spit it out, I don’t want to play games today.”

“He got real pretty, Hongjoong-ah.” 

Hongjoong flinches, a verbal smack across the face. His stomach seizes, blood rushing into his head surely to give him a pounding headache.

“Don’t  _ fucking  _ talk about him like that.” Panic surges through him hot and electric, the only thing in his mind Wooyoung’s recent withdrawal and lashing out. But that means that Jimin saw Wooyoung, and Jimin is  _ never  _ allowed to see Wooyoung...

“Have the pleasantries ended so soon?” Jimin has the gall to look almost apologetic, though his tone betrays him. To Hongjoong, it sounds taunting. He virtually dangled Wooyoung in front of Hongjoong as if to purposefully set him off. If he’s looking for a fight, Hongjoong will give him a fucking fight.

“We had a deal, Jimin.” Jimin refills his own glass through his magic and drinks, regarding Hongjoong with flaring eyes. 

“You didn’t hold up your end of it.” Jimin shrugs as if Hongjoong should know the fault in his actions, eyes flicking over his shoulder. “Hey, did you paint that? It’s nice.” 

Several things click into place at once. Wooyoung’s aversion of the kitchen, finding Happy discarded in the living room, Wooyoung’s mood swings. It’s all related to Jimin.

A small thud from the hallway distracts Hongjoong from losing his shit. He’s about to accuse Jimin of conjuring up something else to fuck with him when Happy stumbles around the corner and spots Jimin immediately.

“ _ Jiminie!”  _ The bear trips in his excitement as he takes off for Jimin’s legs, smacking into his calf and wheeling his arms until Jimin scoops him up. 

“Hi honey!” He brings the bear to his face, rubbing his nose along the bear’s plastic one as his sweet laugh rings out around them. Hongjoong watches the display blankly, still working through how Jimin could’ve gotten to Wooyoung when they’re almost always either together or away from the apartment. Jimin calculates moves, he’s smart, there’s no way he’d approach Wooyoung out in the open. He thinks hard, tracing back every single thing he’s done over the course of the week. 

“ _ Are you back now? Wooyoungie was so sad when you left again. I couldn’t comfort him.” _

“Well, I-”

“The other night, you were here. I found Wooyoung on the couch.” Hongjoong says slowly, testing out the allegation to see if Jimin responds. ‘He seemed upset.” 

“Very good, Hongjoong-ah.” He resumes tickling the bear, placing teasing kisses against the fuzzy fabric of his head. Hongjoong’s blood turns hot and sticky in his veins, anger forming into something explosive as he watches Jimin cuddle Wooyoung’s plushie. “Do you recall the terms and conditions of our agreement, my love?”

“Of course I do! But you didn’t call for me!” Hongjoong accuses, teeth grinding to keep him from saying anything too threatening. Being on Jimin’s bad side only means tossing Wooyoung into the deep end and the thought of Wooyoung at Jimin’s mercy claws at his insides. He’d do anything,  _ has  _ done anything, to make sure that Jimin is but a figment of Wooyoung’s childhood dreams. 

“I know.” Jimin smiles and it sets Hongjoong alight, his fury nearly tossing him from the couch and into the demon. He holds himself back angrily, waiting for an opportunity that won’t immediately fail. 

“So you broke the fucking contract then, did you not?” 

“I grew bored of such a menial thing. It’s time I reacquainted myself. Wooyoung is a  _ big boy  _ now, Hongjoong. He can fend for himself.” Happy settles in Jimin’s lap, facing Hongjoong with his little button eyes and stitched smile. It’s fucking creepy. Jimin plucks one of Happy’s arms from his side and brings it forward, bending the stuffing to form a little hand and wave.

“How the fuck is that even legitimate? Do you know what I’ve done to keep that contract alive?”

_ A secluded section of a nightclub, Hongjoong steering Yunho into Jimin’s inviting embrace on the dance floor. Red and blue lights cast a pretty glow over the whole room, reflecting off of the sweat dripping down Yunho’s temple. Hongjoong cages Yunho against Jimin’s body, hands fisted in his shirt at the sides as he rolls his hips into him. He’s nauseous, clutching protectively at Yunho as he presses his forehead between Yunho’s shoulder blades. He can’t see Jimin over Yunho’s shoulder, he’s the tallest of the three, so he has to trust when Yunho’s body stiffens that Jimin isn’t drawing it out. The throng of bodies grinding alongside them and dark lighting conceals Jimin’s smooth movements, just enough to incapacitate Yunho. Jimin whispers something Hongjoong purposefully leans away from, focusing on keeping the act up in case someone happens to notice Yunho limp between them. He does not count the songs that pass.  _

“Of course I do, and I appreciate the efforts over the years.” Jimin’s voice overlaps the memory of pounding club music, the sickening way he was drowning in sweat and the warmth of Yunho’s back plastered to his entire front. He remembers Yunho’s slack face, the utter distrust and fear swimming in his eyes when Jimin spun him to face Hongjoong. Jimin’s feeding often leaves its mark, even if there is no recollection. 

“What happens when you break the contract?” Hongjoong refocuses, forcing himself to revisit his laments for when Jimin isn’t around to witness it. When he looks back up into Jimin’s eyes though, he sees acknowledgement - Jimin knows exactly where he drifted off to for a moment. 

“Who was it?” Jimin taunts as he toys with Happy’s arms, posing him as though he is a cheerleader. He jabs one plush hand straight up as Happy helpfully chants along. Jimin doesn’t intend on sparing him tonight.“I know you think of Seonghwa often.” The provocation is paired with a grin even a Cheschire cat couldn’t replicate.

The air around Hongjoong turns icy.

Jimin’s an immortal creature. 

Jimin has powers.

Jimin has nearly killed him before.

_ “Hongjoong-ah! Help!” _

He had to keep Wooyoung safe.

_ “Wait, no, what are you doing? Hongjoong-ah!” _

It’s about Wooyoung. 

It’s for Wooyoung. 

Hongjoong stands and doesn’t get very far at all.

Jimin pins him to the couch, a hand sliding home into his hair. His grip closes around a fistful and yanks him backwards until his head slams into the back of the couch, panting as he’s forced to look upwards into Jimin’s eyes. They’re not glowing, which means he doesn’t want to subdue him, his aim isn’t to feed from Hongjoong tonight. The fear clawing up from the pit of his stomach simmers down, roiling in his gut to keep him on guard. Bravely fighting against Jimin wouldn’t do much to save Wooyoung, so he lets the tension in his shoulders go as he submits.

“You are going to hear me, sweet.” Jimin punctuates the endearment with a light kiss to his temple, a warning. “ _ Don’t struggle”  _ in the form of affection. 

“What’s the fucking catch?” Hongjoong hisses back, grimacing around the sharp stinging of his scalp. There are structures in place in their contract; Jimin can’t waltz back into their lives carelessly without meeting demands. It’s the one thing Hongjoong ascertained before he signed.

“Are you going to try me, or are you going to listen?” He tugs on Hongjoong’s hair just to hear him gasp, drinking in the way Hongjoong involuntarily trembles underneath him.

“You’re not making a solid case for me to think positively right now I hope you realize that.” 

“Mmm, your own prejudices against me still haunt you.” A tendril appears from over his shoulder, coiling to slip under the space between Hongjoong’s lip and the ring. It strokes the underside of the ring as if threatening to tear it out. “Your mouth is a beautiful thing, but I need to closed for now.” Hongjoong huffs defiantly, eliciting a lighthearted chuckle from Jimin. The fingers go lax in his hair and Jimin adjusts his position, straddling Hongjoong’s lap and sinking in until they’re pressed together. 

“Mpmphhmm.” 

“I want another chance, Hongjoong-ah.” Jimin drops his forehead to Hongjoong’s shoulder, nails scratching comfortingly into his scalp. It feels like he’s preparing to feed from Hongjoong, but the cotton candy pheromones he usually releases to put him in a trance aren’t filling Hongjoong’s senses. He tries his best to relax in the intimate hold, sagging into the cushions as Jimin sighs against his ear.

_ Seonghwa sleeps peacefully, mouth dropped into a pout and breathing softly into Hongjoong’s neck. They hadn’t meant to fall asleep together like this, crossing a new line in unspoken boundaries. Hongjoong feels sadness and regret well up in him, spilling out as tears raining into Seonghwa’s hair as Jimin stands over them. “ _ Come, I won’t be long.”  _ Jimin extends a hand to him even as his dark vines approach the bed, pulling at Hongjoong’s clothes. With a heavy heart, Hongjoong carefully separates from Seonghwa, numbly accepting Jimin’s hand. He’s led to the living room and pushed into a chair, tucked in with the throw blanket from the couch. Jimin closes the door out of courtesy to him, which only makes it worse when the whimpers float through it, muffled but loud in the silence of the apartment. _

“And either you let me have that, or I’m going to take it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't mean for this to get sad i promise good things are coming 
> 
> but do we love jimin or do we love jimin

**Author's Note:**

> boo
> 
> twt: @yoontoagoblin  
> all i do is post hongjoong's selfies and cry over them


End file.
